


Illegal in fifty states

by Fatale (femme)



Series: illegal in fifty states [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-28
Updated: 2006-05-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 13:05:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femme/pseuds/Fatale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam might be built like a ballerina, but there’s nothing girlish about his fists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illegal in fifty states

Illegal in fifty states  
Sam/Dean, R  
Spoilers: Written before Devil's Trap, so none.  
WC: 1823

 

Dean's angry and reckless this evening, doesn’t know why. Rather he does, just doesn’t care to look too closely.

He feels like he wants to peel his skin off, shed it along with the anger and pent-up boredom that crawls beneath his skin like thousands of tiny bugs.

They lost the Manananggal demon somewhere outside Minnesota - lost, fuck, it bowled them over - and Dean _itches_ with the heady adrenaline of an aborted fight. Sam was right, they had to regroup, figure out where the bitch would hit up next, but he feels like he was getting ready for a marathon just to have his legs cut out from beneath him.

As soon as they got back to the motel room, he changed his shirt, shrugged off Sam’s worried questions and headed to the nearest bar. He fucking hates when anything gets the better of him, Sam included.

Across the bar, a pretty blonde - nice tits, great legs - makes eyes at him in clear invitation. He doesn't need to be told twice. Dean makes a beeline towards her, any attempt at subtlety be damned. “Buy you a drink?” he asks, with the most charming smile he can muster. It probably looks a bit feral.

“Sure,” she says, undeterred. There’s pink lipstick on her teeth and her dark roots have grown out. She’s as cheap as the beer here and he thought that was what he wanted, just a good hard fuck with a woman who he wouldn't have to lie to or wait until she was asleep to leave, but suddenly, he’s repulsed and all he wants to do is go back to his room and sleep. Alone.

But apparently he was pretty obvious about his intentions because the woman is _up on him_ , smashing her tits against his arm and smiling in a way that he’s a couple beers shy of thinking is sexy.

“Actually, darlin'” he says with the best apologetic look he can manage when he wants to hurl, “I think I should probably get back.”

“Married?” the woman asks. “S’okay with me.”

“Well, it’s not with me,” Dean snaps and he’s angry again. He pushes her off him as gently as he can without causing a scene, but hears the guys at the pool table behind him mutter angrily.

Hell, a fight might be good for him, he thinks. Better to fight here than later with Sam.

A hand lands on his shoulder. “I think you need to be leaving,” a guy says and Dean just knows he’s named _Bif_ or _Earl_.

He turns to face the guy and flashes his most-likely-to-get-his-face-smashed-in grin and says, “I was just getting settled in.”

Earl, as Dean’s dubbed him, sneers with a mouth that’s never seen a dentist in its forty-some-odd years and telegraphs his punch like a bitch. Dean smiles wider.

“Stop,” Sam calls out from the door.

“Friend of yours?” Earl asks suspiciously, sizing Sam up. Probably wants to kick Sam's ass by association.

“Not always,” Sam answers. “But we’ll be leaving now.”

“That right?”

Sam pulls himself up to his full height - which Dean grudgingly admits is kind of impressive - and stares Earl down in a way that gives Dean equal amounts of pride and resentment. Fuck if he didn’t _teach_ Sam that glare.

“Back off, Sam,” Dean growls, low and threatening.

Sam turns to Dean and gives him a look that says clearly, Dean is an idiot and he’s going to get his ass kicked when they get back.

Looks like he's going to get his fight one way or another.

 

***

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sam asks the minute they get back to the room. “You were outnumbered _five_ to _one_ , Dean.”

The furious hum under Dean’s skin hasn’t abated. It’s gotten stronger and threatens to overwhelm him; his teeth practically rattle with it.

The first swing is cathartic.

That’s all he gets.

Sam might be built like a ballerina, but there’s nothing girlish about his fists, which are roughly the same size and feel of cement blocks. He gets close enough to take away Sam’s reach advantage and hooks a foot behind his leg, taking them both down.

Sam lands like a giant, angry twisting limbs, harsh breath, and all their years of training fly out the window and this is as dirty as any fighting ever done in a back alley. Can't fight a brother like a demon. A demon's usually guilty of something.

“Fuck you,” Sam shouts breathlessly, incoherently, face red.

“Fight me, fight me,” Dean chants over and over again. There’s only the one lamp Sam turned on when they came into the room and Dean’s glad for it, glad that Sam can’t see his face as he loses his cool and fucking comes apart at the seams. Sam always accuses him of being the perfect soldier. Dean only _wishes_.

“Why are you doing this?” Sam asks, hitting Dean square in the chest with an elbow, making him see stars.

He desperately tries to gasp in ragged breaths, but his lungs aren’t cooperating. They’re turning into these girlish kind of half sobs and christ, Dean _hates_ himself right now, so he hits Sam again harder.

It isn’t until he lands two punches in a row that he realizes Sam isn’t fighting back.

“What the _hell_?”

Sam’s wrapped his long legs and arms around Dean, effectively immobilizing him and if this is some kind of new fighting technique, it _sucks_. Sam’s busy muttering some kind of nonsense, like _don’t worry_ and _it’ll be okay_. All that’s just bullshit because it won’t be okay. The Manananggal likes to suck the babies out of pregnant women and Dean can’t bring himself to express how many levels of nasty that is.

Someone’ll probably die tonight, some pretty woman that thinks she’s happy and safe in her bed. She‘ll get the baby sucked right out of her gut and if the demon isn‘t feeling nice, all of her insides, too. Maybe it‘s better that way, that she won‘t suffer. Doesn’t mean her family won’t, though.

He hopes to god she doesn’t already have children. How many days will it take to research, to find this thing again? There’s nothing to do but wait and the wait’s what kills people like him.

“Shhh, we’ll find it,” Sam says and Dean wonders if he was talking out loud or if Sam went all Miss Cleo on him again. He hates it when Sam goes poking around places he doesn’t belong.

Sam’s running a hand down his the back of his head over and over, and Dean feels the fight leak out of him like a liquid thing that leaves him all wet and sloppy on the inside. A touch, light as a feather, brushes against the corner of his mouth. It isn't until Dean's eyes fly open that he realizes they were shut.

Another brush of lips more fully on the mouth this time , Dean's eyes are wide open. He can see the origins for himself and it _hurts_ because it's both a confirmation and a denial. He wonders if he ever protected Sam for completely pure reasons, reasons that couldn't get twisted around by people that didn't understand that he would never lay a hand on his brother.

Except maybe he would and it's a bit like his body is unravelling. Lust, Dean thinks, adds shades of ugly meaning to everything good he ever thought he'd done.

His belly roils at the thought, but he pushes closer. Sam's hard body against his is as intoxicating as any alcohol.

Sam's mouth slides over his, warm and damp, still winded from their fight and panting into Dean's mouth. His lips slide over Dean's chin and down to his neck, where Dean tilts his head back, offering Sam anything he can see.

A tongue at the hollow of his throat _right there_ is probably the filthiest, most erotic place he can imagine Sam putting his tongue with all their clothes still on and he bucks up against Sam, looking for friction, anything.

 _There_. Sam's close too, he can feel it in the way Sam's body tenses against his, the way his breathing picks up.

A hand on his neck, sliding up into his hair and tugging on the short strands none too gently, undoes him and he's coming in his pants like he's fifteen again and just found out about tits. Only this time, he's found something completely new that he's not sure what to do with.

Sam comes with a strangled moan, falls onto him, and this time it's Dean who's holding them together.

After a while, Dean shifts uncomfortably. He should probably say something profound or sad, but what comes out is: "Dude, your ass is heavy."

Sam laughs softly against his neck and it's the best goddamn sound Dean's hear this whole evening. “Come on, lets go to bed,” Sam says and pulls back, making a face at the wet spot on his jeans.

Dean gets his first good look at Sam’s face and is shocked to see smeared blood welling from his nose and the beginnings of what’s going to be a helluva shiner come morning.

“Want me to clean up your face?” Dean asks gruffly, unable to tell Sam sorry about the fight, because he isn’t, not really. He’s just kind of sorry Sam’s face - and their already dodgy relationship - had to get fucked up in the process.

Sam nods, _understanding_ and Dean feels his knees nearly go weak at the thought. How long has it been since anyone’s really understood him?

Dean stumbles towards the bathroom, where he catches his face in the mirror and realizes he’s going to have matching bruise come morning.

 

***

Sam’s stripped down to his boxers and is sitting on the edge of his bed.

Dean eyes the dark smears all over the carpet and prepares himself for a quick exit in the morning.

“I got you good,” Sam says, looking at Dean. He grins easily, like they didn't just do something that's illegal in every state but the crappy ones and Dean’s ridiculously grateful for Sam. He mentally halts himself right the fuck there. Christ, next he’ll grow boobs and want to start holding Sam’s hand in public.

“Yeah, you did,” Dean concedes and it’s as close as he’ll ever come to talking about what happened and Sam doesn’t push it. Just stays quiet while Dean patches him up and when they’re done, he pulls back the covers. Dean stares at him like he’s grown two heads because what is this, Lifetime for Women? But Sam just stares up at him expectantly and he’d never been good at saying no to Sam, not even when he wanted to.

Right now, he really doesn’t want to.

“It’ll help with the nightmares,” Sam offers. Neither comment on the fact that he doesn’t specify whose.

 

END.


End file.
